


wild women don't get the blues

by constanted



Category: Lost
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Modern Era! Gay Shit! Oh Lord!, lesmond hume
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 15:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constanted/pseuds/constanted
Summary: Years from now, her hair will be longer, and she will be alone and crying and angry about something, and she feels all of that in this moment. And Penny still won’t love her.(or: the one where desmond is a lesbian)





	wild women don't get the blues

**Author's Note:**

> here's a fic i wrote a year ago about how desmond from lost's flashbacks work as a self-acceptance arc for gay girls. thanks.

(1999) 

“Sí, mamá,” she says into the phone, her first language feeling foreign on her tongue after years of disuse, “Necesito ayudarles, mamá. Mira. Volveré a universidad cuándo— _Mamá._ ”

She’s already made up her mind, her mother can’t stop her. She’s heading back to Glasgow tomorrow, her bags are packed, her teachers know, her roommate’s pissed.

Ruth understands, Ruth always understands. Ruth sets her up on a date with Derek, Ruth’s brother, who is apparently super sweet and just the best, you two’d be great together. Des says yes, to be polite, and if he looks anything like Ruth, she think’s he’ll be at least a little satisfying. 

_—_

(2004)

“Why’d you leave him?” Ruth yells, and Des still doesn’t know how she found her hiding place, “It was paid for, it was going to be perfect!”  


“I couldn’t do it,” she says, and she’s trying not to cry, cursing loudly in her head.

Ruth is fuming.

“Whaddya— You were _in love_.”  


“Not with him.”  


A coworker shushes her. she ignores him, instead thinks about every romance movie she’s ever seen, the confession. she holds back, a second.

“Just admit it,” says Ruth, “You’re a coward. You ran away because—“  


“I ran away because,” she inhales, exhales, closes her eyes, “Because I love—“  


“Who d’you love? And don’t say God, because even though I heard you were in a nunnery for a bit, you’ve never been particularly devout.”  


“ _You_ , Ruth,” she says, and she feels something rising up her throat, stars in her eyes.

What happens next flashes before her, like the dreams she has about the ocean or about gunshots or about the feeling of sand on her feet. But it’s real, it’s pain. There are words, there are actions, there is pain. She tastes blood, the iron seeping into her tongue. Ruth’s eyes are fearful and angry, Des understands. A customer stares.

She steals good wine from work that night, drinks it till she can’t think about anything anymore. She wants her whole body to burn, and she knows that someday, she will. 

“You should leave,” says Emilio, who owns the winery, “We let you board, but you brought violence to our door today, Ms. Hume.”

“I understand,” she says.  


—

That ends, but something starts with a smile and a girl she knows from somewhere. 

“I used to live here,” she says, when prompted, “Their wine is shit.”  


“Good thing I’m not drinking it. And— living on a winery? Sounds interesting. I have plenty of questions to ask you on our way to Carlisle, then,” says the girl, eyes shining.

“Who said I was going to Carlisle with you?”

“Well, who else could help me?”  


“I don’t often get into cars with strange women.”  


“I don’t often invite strange women into my car. I’m Penelope, Penny. There. Not strangers anymore.”  


“Des.

“Well, Des, shall we?”

—

Penny has an extra bed, a good heart, a rich father. It always smells like vanilla in her flat. Des never liked the smell before, but now it smells like home. 

She gets a job at a theater, moves out as soon as she can afford to. She can’t get attached. Despite this, Penny still comes, all the time, bringing food and wine and advice and affection. Penny calls all the time, too, to check in, and Des aways answers— there are twenty missed calls from her mother, thirteen from all three brothers, two from Derek, none from Ruth. 

She gets attached, she always does. She needs to stop this, forming long and torturous relationships with normal girls who won’t love her back. But Penny— Penny is different than Ruth, there’s a distinct divide between the ways Des loved both of them; Penny feels more clean, more— whole. Des doesn’t feel like dying because she loves Penny, Des feels like she’s living, for once.

Two months into this, Penny is over, they’re watching TV. It’s the middle of the night, Penny’s head is on Des’ shoulder. A woman on the TV is talking about buying her wedding dress. Des hates this show.

“You wanna,” says Penny, wiping her reading glasses off with her shirt, pale blue and plaid, “Grab coffee tomorrow?”

“Uh, sure,” says Des, half-asleep.

“It’s a date, then,” says Penny, and yawns. Des is half-awake, now.

“Date?” Des says, not intentionally out loud, and she begins to collapse in on herself, she may have just ruined things forever—

“Oh— uh—“ Penny is blushing.

“No, I—“

Penny is on her lips, and she tastes like vanilla, feels like religion. (see, she’s never been particularly devout, but she could be to this.)

 

—

(2006)

It goes well, for a while. Two years into this endeavor, they move in together, taking it slow, (Penny’s friends joke about this, I thought they moved in at the third date.) Des talks to her mother, talks to her brothers. they ask who her friend is, Penny races to correct, but Des tells her to not bother, it’s not worth it, honey. Then, the world explodes. 

It’s a long day, a migraine, déjà vu, Penny’s father’s condemnation, and a man dying in front of her eyes, seconds after a woman who seems to know Des better than she knows herself points him out.

She goes home, and there’s Penny, reading a book, about to sleep.

“God,” Penny says, out of nowhere, “I wanna get married.”

Des’ blood runs cold. she can’t— not after what she’s heard today. “We—“

“Canada. A few states in the US, the Netherlands, Belgium.”

“It would be so expensive. I can’t—“

“I’d pay.”  


“Your father,” she says, “He hates me, he hates _us_!”

(“you ruined her,” says Charles, no tone in his voice.

“sir, I’m sorry,” she responds.  


“as you should be.”)

(“you and her,” says the woman on the street, chestnut in her hand, “are not meant to be.”  


“you don’t know me, you don’t know her—“ the woman pops the chestnut into her mouth, smiles.

“and whenever you see your future, you don’t see her. is that a coincidence, Ms. Hume? she doesn’t love you.”

her head hurts. she sees an island, she hears a beeping. she hates that beeping, over and over in her head for years and years and years.)

“Fuck my father. I’ll pay.”

Des feels possessed. Years from now, her hair will be longer, and she will be alone and crying and angry about something, and she feels all of that in this moment. And Penny still won’t love her.

“I don’t want your charity,” she says, shaking a little bit, biting her lip as she feels a tear coming on.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”  


“Why else would you— I’m pathetic, I can’t even commit to a job, much less— I’m not worth your time— you deserve someone better than me, someone who can love you without— no regret—“  


“I want to be with you,” she says it like she means it, but she doesn’t, she can’t.

“You and I,” she says, clenching her hand, “Aren’t meant to do this—“  


“Yes, we are—“  


“Why do you want me?”  


“You’re good, you’re—“  


“Don’t lie to me,” she says, “God, don’t lie to me. I’m not even—“  


It’s quiet, then. (it’s never quiet, never like this.)

Penny’s gone the next morning.

“Coward,” she whispers to herself, because that’s what she is.

—

(2007/2014)

  
“Someone really, really important to you,” says Daniel Faraday, all bounce and wild eyes.

And she knows immediately who is— knows it like her own mind.

(Penny doesn’t pick up, Penny’s changed her number.)

But she goes to their old flat, and there Penny is, crying, a little drunk. (Des has been exactly the same, lately.)

“I just need your phone number. Don’t change it. Your mobile. I swear to god, Pen, I won’t— I won’t call for eight years, Pen.”

“You could,” she says, “You could call me every day.”  


“I could,” she says.

She doesn’t. She writes, though. Oh God, she writes.

—

(2009)

Charles Widmore is the reason she’s in prison and Penny hasn’t written her back. It’s a terrible life.

She gets out on a Sunday to see a car waiting for her, a pale hand reaching out of the window. It’s him, she knows, she ignores him, she tries to walk past, but his driver yells her name.

He offers her money, he shows her letters, her own handwriting on the envelopes.

“You’re a bastard,” she tells him, at the same time he says, “Take the money.”

She doesn’t take the money. She does take his recommendation to run away. 

“Because you’re a coward,” says Charles Widmore, and she nods her head, she knows, oh God, she knows. 

—

(2010)

Elizabeth Smith is a mistake. But a good one, they’re happy, however briefly— they decide, after three weeks, that they’re better off friends, and Elizabeth is still not quite ready for a relationship, after David. Des keeps the boat, though, Elizabeth insists. She sleeps on Elizabeth’s couch, runs with Elizabeth three times a week.

The days Elizabeth doesn’t run with her are always strange, but this one ruins her.

Penny stands there before her, business-casual. Her hair must have been done only an hour or so beforehand. 

She’s crying. Des tries to not let it get to her, but it does— she’s short on breath.

“How did you find me?” she manages to get out, words with a gap between them.  


“Your roommate—“  


“How did you find me?” more confidently.

“I have a lot of money, with enough of that and determination, you can find anyone. Why didn’t you write to me?”

She wants to scream, I did, I did write, but she doesn’t.

“I have to go,” she says instead, “I’m training.”  


“Training for what?”  


“His— his race. I’ll win, and then I’ll be back.”  


“I can’t wait a year, Des. Have you read— have you read your book?”  


“You would have heard if I had.”  


She runs, at that, picks up the pace. Penny catches up to her with some effort, pushes something onto her chest.

It’s an old photograph, them, laughing. Des feels the day on her skin, fake backgrounds, cheap alcohol. She was happy, then, despite the beeping in her head that wouldn’t stop, like a countdown clock. 

“If you’re gone,” says Penny, “If you don’t come back—“  


“I’ll come back. And ask your father why I didn’t write, I think he has some ideas.”  


“Don’t be so bitter.”  


“I love you,” she says, after a rest, a few breath. Her wrists hurt like hell.

—

When she meets Jack, she sees feet under a blanket and a bright light under ground. 

She tells him to lift it up, because those seem like the right words for everything, and for his ankle, too. He’s a doctor, though, so he should know that. Shouldn’t need some strange woman who’s just been crying for thirty minutes telling him what to do. 

She wonders what’ll happen to him.

—

(2011)

She hates the taste of saltwater. 

It’s raining, storming. She’s never seen lightning like this, probably not even rain like this. She’s hit her head on the wheel a few times, can taste blood off her lip. She’s doing this for love, she reminds herself, to prove herself wrong, more than anything.

She hits her head, tastes saltwater, and she forgets what happens next. 

—

Kelvin immediately takes her in, cleans her up, gives her a job to do. She hears beeping, but it’s outside her head now.

This is her purpose, she knows. She deserves this, for all she’s done— it’s her destiny. God planned this for her.

Kelvin is a decent fellow, if a little ignorant, but she can survive with him, she has to. So she relies upon him. And he relies upon her— she makes him food, gives him her best hangover cures— God knows they both need those, now. She grows to hate those seven numbers, grows to almost enjoy Geronimo Jackson. Penny had complained once, one of her ex-girlfriends just _loved_ Geronimo Jackson, one of her ex-boyfriends hated them. She had said they’re the kind of band you just tolerate. She wonders often, how Penny is, keeps the photograph of them on the bathroom mirror.

(she wonders why Penny loved her when she could love anyone else. if she had found someone else, since.)

—

(2014)

The world explodes again, this time literally. She washes the blood off of her hands has she hyperventilates, accepts that she may be the only person back on earth. 

Well, not really accepts so much as tries not to think about it ever or else she’ll panic. She goes back to the self she was after Ruth, after Penny, after her mother left, after her father died. She doesn’t think. She drinks too much shitty wine, she looks at the guns every single night.

_Our Mutual Friend_ is still in the plastic bag she kept it in when she was in the race.  
  
_(i will love you, always,_ Penny says in the letter, and Des cries and cries and cries and she hears something oh God she hears something is she finally going to leave is it God is it something is she not alone—)

It’s a man. It’s always a man.

She sends him some light, prays he’ll come down and save her.

Penny would laugh, tell her to stop conforming to society’s expectations of what a woman should be. Some bloke coming to rescue her from her tower.

—

The man and the woman inside the hatch with her— the people that blew up the door, what the hell— terrify her and fascinate her all at once.

The woman is drop-dead gorgeous, the man is gruff and oddly familiar. She’s seen so few people in these last few years— every voice, every face, it blends together. Everything, everyone is the same. She hardly remembers her mother’s face, she hardly remembers Spanish, she hardly remembers anything at all. She doesn’t trust them.

She ties up the man— the woman looks at her strangely. He had been saying that the woman, (Kate, she says,) was a criminal.

She wonders how she looks— her hair is still wet, and when she looked in the mirror earlier, her eyes looked red and bulging. She still has dried blood under her nails from what happened— well, she’s lost track of days, but it must have been more than a month ago. She’s whispering whenever she speaks, not on purpose but out of necessity. She pushes past that— she’s going to be killed, or she’s going to be a murderer.

(but she already is, she can’t— never again, never again.)

Kate stares at her. 

The alarm goes off.

Kate follows her. Asks too many questions. Des answers them, but can’ make out full sentences. God, she is so tired, God, she can’t be here any longer. 

(but she deserves this. this is her fate, she needs to stay. but hey— she could use some help.)

She doesn’t believe Kate’s story, but for now, it’s her only hope.

—

John, that’s the man’s name, breaks out the second the other man walks in— she points her gun at John, rather than Kate or the second man (oh God, so familiar too,) and the new man lectures Locke, she braces herself further.

—

The computer breaks, everything goes to hell, she runs, she tells them what to do, and oh, that’s where she knows the second man from— his name is Jack, he’s _the_ Jack. The Jack who she met in the stadium.

She keeps running. No time for attachments.

—

And then it feels like she can’t escape them, three men jumping onto the Elizabeth. And her day, from then out, goes to hell.

—

She tries not to grow attached to anyone from the flight, but she settles into a clique eventually, by the sole virtue of her need to protect Charlie from his inevitable death. The kid thinks she’s hitting on him, and then that she’s hitting on Claire once she clarifies how absolutely uninterested she is in men. But Hurley likes having her around, and she likes having Hurley around, and once she and Charlie talk out their issues—drunkenly, of course—they gain respect for each other. And Claire—well, Claire’s sweet. Too good for Charlie, she thinks, though she doesn’t mention it.

When they’re looking for the parachutist, she and Charlie and Hurley and Jin, Charlie asks her about the Girl In The Photograph. 

“We were together, once,” says Des, “She—she’s lookin’ for me.”  
  
“When’d you meet?”  
  
“Er, oh-four. Got together two months after we met. She’s—she’s better than I am.”  
  
“Yeah,” says Charlie, and he elbows her, “I’d assume, cuz no offense, but you’re a little bit,” and he makes a signal for crazy, makes his eyes go wide. She glares at him, but she smiles.

—   


Charlie dies, because Naomi lied to them. And Des can’t help but blame herself.

—

(2014/2007)

Her brain is breaking, but Penny’s on the other side of the line, and Penny’s there. Penny’s there.

“I still love you,” says Penny, “I’ve been searching for _three years_ , Des, are you—you’re alive, thank _God._ ”

Des smiles, though she can taste saltwater running down her cheeks. 

“I love you too,” she says, “I’m so sorry for—for everything, I was—I was afraid—“  
  
“I thought I was crazy, but you’re alive!”  
  
“I don’t know where I am but—“  
  
“I’ll find you—“  
  
“I promise.”

And the line cuts out, and she thanks Sayid, and she falls asleep smiling.

—

(2015)

The first time she sees Penny in three years, it is New Year’s Day. 

She can hear Jack whispering, “Des is gay?”  
  
“Yeah, dude, isn’t it—isn’t it obvious?”  
  
Des tunes him out, scales the side of the boat.

Penny is more beautiful than ever. Des doesn’t care about the details, she doesn’t care about the alibi, about faking her own death. None of that matters, right now. She has too much to catch up on.

Penny kisses her, holds her like she’s home, like she’s something precious, like she’s something wholesome and good and perfect. And for once, Des feels like that might be true.. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest, in a good way. 

It feels right.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm gay
> 
> title from first love/late spring by mitski.
> 
> yahooanswer over there.


End file.
